


Love Me, Harry

by Run_of_the_mill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore is the one who dies, Graphic Torture, Harry has super strength, Harry is Jessica, I try, Jessica Jones AU, M/M, Voldemort has Mind control, Voldemort is Kilgrave, Voldemort is a bad dude, Wow!, but I wasn't sure because it's Dumbledore, how nice of you mill, mentions of mpreg, more mindfuck, really it shouldn't even be a main character death, thank you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Run_of_the_mill/pseuds/Run_of_the_mill
Summary: Harry was born with a permanent magick, an extra magical power that few witches and wizards have. His super strength does not require spell or potion. It's just always there. He's never helped anyone before, never wanted to be the hero.And Lord Voldemort is here to remind him exactly why."Yes," hissed Voldemort, victoriously. He pressed their lips together. "Love me, Harry."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkkBluee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkkBluee/gifts), [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty/gifts), [Anna_Hopkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/gifts), [SparkySheep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkySheep/gifts), [Arualiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/gifts).



> Note that Voldemort has the same power as Kilgrave. If you do not know anything about Kilgrave, I suggest watching Jessica Jones on Netflix. Tennant is really good as Kilgrave. But, in summary, Kilgrave's power is to give out commands that people find themselves compelled to obey. For example, if he said "Kill yourself", you simply would. In this story, Voldemort's power is the same.

Harry wanted to get away. He truly did. Inside his head, he was struggling, screaming, clawing at everything he could reach. But his body, his treacherous body lay still and allowed the horror to happen to him.

All Harry had wanted to do was to help someone less fortunate. Just like Hermione had always wanted him to.

"Hush, sweetheart," said the man as he slowly undid Harry's buttons. Harry was overcome with this overwhelming need to shut up. He could no longer even whimper. All he could do was cry silently.

"I don't like that look in your eye," said the man. "Smile for me, Harry." _No,_  thought Harry. But again, his body didn't listen. His lips pulled up in a small smile. "Wider." And wider, Harry smiled. The man patted him on his cheek, praising him for being a good boy.

He was tall, this monster. And handsome. Very, very handsome. He shouldn't even need to do this. He could probably stand in a crowded street and ask who wanted to fuck him and twenty people would come up. Harry didn't even know his name. Why had this bastard been blessed with a permanent magick?

"Please stop," begged Harry as he was divested of his underwear.

"I told you to hush," said the man. "The only thing you should be saying is my name: Voldemort."

"Voldemort," said Harry, trying to convey just how much he did not want this. but Voldemort either did not understand or simply did not care. He rucked up Harry's shirt and pulled off his own robes. He wore only underwear beneath it and that was quickly gone, leaving Harry with an unobstructed view of his large, erect cock. It was huge. It wouldn't fit.

"We'll have to throw away that muggle crap, won't we?" said Voldemort. Because he didn't ask, Harry knew instantly. Voldemort never asked for anything and Harry nodded at his demand, unable to do anything else.

"Spread your legs, sweet," said Voldemort. "And enjoy it, yes?" How exactly was Harry supposed to enjoy any of this? Harry spread his legs and Voldemort immediately slotted himself between them. The monster muttered a spell which led to slick fingers finding Harry's hole, probing at it and slowly entering it.

To his utter horror, Harry realised that he _was_ beginning to enjoy it. His own cock stirred in interest. It did not go unnoticed as Voldemort inserted another finger, smirking at Harry.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" said Voldemort. "Don't be so shocked. I _did_ tell you to enjoy it." The terrifying realisation dawned on Harry that Voldemort could control how he bloody well felt.

Two fingers were followed by a third as Voldemort kept stretching Harry open. Harry gasped and moaned, pleasure coiling low in his belly. He didn't want this. He _didn't_ feel good! He was being _raped_ for Merlin's sake!

But his body refused to listen. His body liked what Voldemort was doing. The pain didn't matter. The humiliation didn't matter. The fact that Harry didn't _want_ it, didn't matter. All that mattered was that Voldemort wanted him to want it.

Finally, after a while of stretching and moving his fingers inside Harry, Voldemort pulled them out. Involuntarily, Harry let out a whine which earned him a pleased pat on the thigh.

"No worries, love," said Voldemort. "I'll give you what you need. Just ask for it." He smiled, waiting patiently as Harry struggled to answer.

"I _need_ you to go away," begged Harry. "Leave me and _never_ come back!" Voldemort's face darkened at that. Harry flinched, expecting violence, expecting to be hit. A lifetime of living with the Dursleys had brought him up to expect that whenever he talked back.

But Voldemort wasn't Vernon Dursley. He did not slap Harry. He did not punch, did not bite, did not scream. He did much worse.

"No, Harry," said Voldemort. "You don't need me to go away. You need me to stay. You love me, remember?"

And helplessly, Harry began to feel something other than hate for this monster.

  
***

  
**Months Later**

  
“You love me, don't you, Harry?" whispered Voldemort. They were curled up in bed, together as they had been since Voldemort had taken Harry for himself. Harry shivered as Voldemort trailed his fingers up his exposed thigh. Goosebumps erupted in their wake.

"I love you," said Harry and, in that moment, to his great regret, it was true. Harry did love Voldemort. He loved Voldemort with the entirety of his heart. He would die for this man. He would die if Voldemort ever left him. That was how Harry felt in this moment.

But Harry had timed it carefully and, in just a few more minutes, it would be twelve hours since Voldemort had last told Harry to love him. In a few more minutes, the effect of Voldemort’s magick would wear off and Harry might be free. He held his breath, hoping against hope, that Voldemort would forget to reiterate his command.

"I love you, too," said Voldemort, causing Harry's traitorous heart to skip a beat. He kissed Voldemort, rewarding him for the sweet words. Voldemort kissed back, eagerly. He pulled Harry’s thigh to wrap it around his own hip so they were so much closer together. “Merlin, I love you. Harry, I _love_ you.” Harry didn’t answer. He brushed Voldemort’s fringe from his face, smoothing the curls gently. Just a few more moments. Just a bit more and Harry would hate the man again, would want to break his jaw again.

But, a minute before the twelve hours were over, Voldemort's wand vibrated and Voldemort smirked wide and cruel.

"Poor baby," chuckled Voldemort. He nuzzled Harry’s stricken expression. "You almost had it. It was so close, wasn’t it, darling? Hmm. You know what to do, my heart. Love me Harry, dear."

"No!" cried Harry. The tears began to fall, unbidden, as Voldemort's hold on his heart strengthened all over again. Voldemort cooed and brought Harry into his arms, soothing him through his sobs. Harry screamed and screamed. He tried to hit Voldemort, tried to push him away. But he was unable to use his full strength. He couldn’t risk hurting the man he loved. He couldn’t hurt Voldemort.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish, love?" wondered Voldemort. He raised their joined hands and brought Harry's attention to the glinting gold bands on their ring fingers. "We're already married."

"I wanted to kill you," wept Harry, compelled to answer Voldemort's question. Voldemort nodded and hummed. He wasn't surprised, of course. That was Harry's answer every twelve hours of their entire marriage. Harry didn’t know why he kept asking. It was almost as if he expected a different answer. As if he hoped Harry would suddenly say that he wasn’t going to try anything and that he truly loved Voldemort.

"I should get you pregnant," mused Voldemort. He reached for the flesh of Harry’s inner thigh, pinching lightly, just the way he knew Harry loved. Harry gasped in desire. "That should get you to stop. What do you think, my heart?" He answered Harry's look of pure horror with a chuckle. "Tell the truth. What would you do if I got you with child?"

"I'd try even harder," answered Harry, truth spilling out of his mouth like a water gushing out of a leaking pipe. "I'd kill you in your sleep, even if you made me love you."

"Oooh," mocked Voldemort. He pushed himself down the bed till his head was resting right above Harry’s crotch. "I’m so scared. I'd just have to have one of my Death Eaters kill your baby if you even try." He punctuated the threat with a long lick to Harry’s inner thigh. He followed it with a suck that bordered on painful, but strayed just this side of pleasure.

Harry shuddered. He believed Voldemort, believed that the man wouldn't care that the child was his, too. There would be no escaping if Voldemort managed to get Harry with child. Harry would never do anything to harm their baby, no matter how much he hated the father. And Voldemort knew that.

"On that note," said Voldemort, grabbing Harry's shirt collar and ripping the whole thing from neck to belly, "let's get to it, shan't we?"

Harry tried to struggle but Voldemort immediately ordered him to be still and enjoy their love-making. He spread Harry’s legs and dove straight for the little puckered hole. He licked a stripe across Harry’s hole, slowly working the appendage into Harry. But Voldemort was impatient tonight. Very soon, his tongue was replaced by his fingers, stretching Harry hard and fast. It was painful but so good. Harry’s body loved it when his husband was a little rough, a little hurried.

"You love me," said Voldemort, settling back against the headboard. "You want this. Come here and ride me."

After catching his breath, Harry got up on his hands and knees and crawled up Voldemort's body, kissing a path from his bellybutton to his neck which he lavished in kisses that would most certainly bruise. Voldemort, oddly enough, liked to show off any hickey Harry gave him. He especially enjoyed the hickeys that were in places he could not hide. He also loved being told over and over again how much Harry loved him.

"I love you too, sweetheart," moaned Voldemort as Harry lowered himself on his cock. He gripped Harry’s hips so hard he was probably going to leave a bruise, a mark of possession to stoke his ego. "I love you, baby. So much."

"Voldemort," groaned Harry. He began to move, raising himself on his knees before allowing gravity to force Voldemort’s fat cock back into his tiny hole. Voldemort gasped against Harry's ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth to suck on it. He pulled Harry closer, trapping his cock between their bodies and giving it much needed friction.

"You want it deeper," gasped Voldemort. "You want it rougher. Tell me, Harry." Harry nodded, begged him to be rougher, to go deeper.

"Fuck me," begged Harry. It never failed to get Voldemort going when Harry took initiative and demanded things in bed. It made him wild and _mindless._ With a growl, Voldemort turned them around and bent Harry in half, his ankles almost touching his ears. The older man thrust hard and brutal, hammering at Harry’s prostate and making him scream in pleasure.

  
“Oh yes,” moaned Harry. “Oh, fuck _yes._ Right there, please. It’s so good. So _fucking_ good.” Say what you will about Voldemort. He remained amazing at sex.

It didn't take much longer after that, for Harry to bring Voldemort to completion. He goaded his husband, whispered filthy things in his ears as he wrapped his long legs around Voldemort’s hips. Trapped between Harry’s strong legs, Voldemort’s thrusts became shallower and increasingly erratic. He was close, Harry could feel it. Finally, with an animal sound, Voldemort spilled inside Harry’s hole.

  
As they lay in the afterglow, Harry prayed that Voldemort’s seed didn’t take.

***

**A few weeks later.**

Harry patted his petticoats so they sat straight as he pulled the final piece of the stupidly elaborate robes in place. He had to wear them. Voldemort thought they were pretty and Harry wanted to be pretty for his husband. It was an important day for Voldemort and everything had to be perfect.

But Harry hated the stupid robes. If they could even be called robes. There were four parts to it. A tall-necked, long-sleeved top that ended at his midriff; a pair of fitted slacks; petticoats that were open at the front so the slacks were visible; and a giant overskirt that trailed behind him like a wedding gown's train. The whole thing was dark green and embroidered in silver thread.

Harry looked like some rich Asian woman's curtains had thrown up on him.

"Darling," greeted Voldemort as Harry made his way down the long, winding stairs. Harry knew exactly what effect the train made as he climbed down the stairs. It pleased Voldemort, obviously, if his grin was anything to go by.

"If you didn't make me love you," said Harry, with a tight smile, "I would break your neck for making me wear this."

"You look beautiful," assured Voldemort. He kissed Harry's cheek and took his hand, leading him through the throng of Death Eaters that were gathered in the mansion's ballroom.

(Yes. Voldemort lived in a mansion. What a shocker.)

The Death Eaters, Voldemort's personal army, were a bunch of wizards who believed in blood supremacy. Voldemort, Harry had learnt, did not particularly believe in blood supremacy. He only helped push the Death Eaters' agenda because they had all the power in wizarding society and, despite his permanent magick, Voldemort could not simply will the whole of wizarding Britain to accept him as their leader. His ability only worked on people within 200 metres of him.

  
When they finally reached Voldemort's throne (again, such a shocker) Harry took his place besides it and stood tall and straight, the way he knew his husband liked. He _wanted_ to please the man. Voldemort had told him so that very morning.

"Well?" prompted Voldemort. "Will any of you bring the bastard forth? I tire of waiting." A nervous, mousey little man ran off. He was closely followed by a stately gentleman with blond hair that Voldemort had likely introduced to Harry several times. Harry never remembered any of their names, but that might have something to do with the fact that he was never quite in control of his own mind.

The mousey man and the gentleman came in, dragging behind them an old man in robes that somehow managed to be even worse than what Harry was wearing. They were purple and twinkling and Harry's eyes smarted from looking at them too long.

"I know, love," murmured Voldemort. "It hurts my eyes, too."

"Like you have any room to talk," Harry scowled, rearranging his bloody overskirt. That was the wrong thing to say. Voldemort's jaw tightened, anger clear in his expression.

"Did you just compare me to the old coot?" hissed Voldemort. "Take it back, my love. Tell me you're sorry."

"I'm sorry," blurted Harry before his mind had managed to catch up with his mouth. "I take it back."

Voldemort took a deep breath and looked away, but he was clearly still upset. He gestured for the Death Eaters to bring the garish man closer. Harry thought the old man looked familiar. He had something to do with Harry's old school, Hogwarts.

"Is that Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Yes, _darling,"_ snapped Voldemort. "Now, keep your pretty mouth shut until I speak to you again." Harry's jaw closed with an audible click.

"That is a horrible thing you're doing," said Dumbledore, staring at Harry. “You’ll never be happy this way.” Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what Harry was going through. Harry wanted to say something to acknowledge the old man’s consideration for him. But he could not speak and, not knowing what else to do, Harry waved in greeting, trying to convey to his old headmaster that he should stop worrying about Harry and think more about himself. Dumbledore, ever polite, began to wave back but Voldemort shot up and grabbed Harry's arm. He turned Harry around and twisted the arm behind his back.

"Keep being friendly to him," warned Voldemort, "and I'll snap your fucking arm, my love. Do you hear me?"

"S-sorry," whimpered Harry. It hurt. His arm _really hurt._ Voldemort might not be as strong as Harry, himself, but he was still pretty strong. Harry reached for his shoulder with his free arm, trying to do something, _anything,_ about the pain but Voldemort only twisted harder, causing Harry to cry out.

"Tell him how much you love me, sweetheart," ordered Voldemort. "He thinks I'm forcing you. He and his merry little band came to _save_ you from me. Tell him you don't need to be saved."

"I love you," cried Harry. "I love you. I _love you_ and I don't need to be saved!"

"See?" said Voldemort, letting go of Harry's arm and turning back to Dumbledore's troubled expression. "We're in love! We're in love and you tried to separate us. You know, bad things happen to people that come in between true love. Isn't that right, darling?"

"Yes," sobbed Harry, cradling his hurt arm.

"Well, this old man came between true love," said Voldemort, gesturing to Dumbledore. "Isn’t that just _rotten,_ my love? What do we do about that? What to do? What to do? A-ha! I know! Harry, it's been a while since you've used your magick!"

"N-no," plead Harry, knowing exactly where this was going. "Please don't. Don't make me do this." Voldemort smiled one of his cruelest, coldest smiles. He stalked up to Harry and cupped his cheeks.

"Harry, love of my life," whispered Voldemort against Harry's lips, "torture and _kill_ Albus Dumbledore for me."

"No," begged Harry even as his body moved forward, catching up to Voldemort's command faster than his mind. He walked up to Dumbledore, still crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright, dear boy," assured Dumbledore, forgiveness etched in his every feature. It made the whole ordeal so much worse.

"Get on with it," ordered Voldemort. The flippant bastard.

Harry grabbed one of Dumbledore's arms and snapped through the ulna and radial. The old man let out a small cry of pain and tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. But he did not try to defend himself. He remained where he was, even as Harry tore his other arm from his torso, ripped his fingernails off one by one, flayed the skin off his back.

All of this, Voldemort watched with child-like glee in his eyes, clapping when Harry did something especially cruel.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Harry took Dumbledore's head between his hands.

"It's over," wept Harry, even though it was obvious Dumbledore no longer understood anything. "Rest." With that, he snapped Dumbledore's neck and killed him.

"My love," Voldemort sighed as he hugged Harry from behind. Harry could feel the hardness between the monster's legs. He was _aroused!_ Harry was so utterly disgusted, he almost threw up right then and there.

He was disgusted.

He was disgusted.

Twelve hours were up. And Voldemort had forgotten.

Finally!

Harry glided his hand gently across Voldemort's arms, up to his shoulders. He turned around, wanting to see the look in the bastard's eye when he realised he was going to die.

Immediately, he knew something was wrong.

Voldemort was smirking knowingly. He took hold of both of Harry's wrists and pulled them off his neck. Harry attempted to break free but his magick was not working. Why?

"Sweetheart," said Voldemort, "how stupid do you think I am? There are runes sewn into your clothes. Your magick won't work if I don't want it to."

"No,” whined Harry. He’d been so close. How could this be happening to him? Again.

 _"Yes,"_ hissed Voldemort, victoriously. He pressed their lips together. "Love me, Harry."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's your chapter 2. 😑😑

Harry stared at the Healer, attempting to feel some semblance of horror. His true self was wallowing in it, deep at the back of Harry's mind, right next to his lizard brain. But Harry could not experience any of it, because Voldemort had ordered him to be happy.

"Our first child, my heart," said Voldemort, rubbing Harry's belly with unveiled pride. They'd only been trying for a month. The Malfoys had tried for _years_ before producing Draco. Voldemort had done it in one month. Of course he was proud. Harry's hand joined Voldemort's on his belly, wondering at the life that was growing in there.

"Our son will be something to behold," stated Voldemort. _Son?_  thought Harry. They didn't even know what the baby would be yet.

"It could be a daughter," Harry pointed out. "A little princess to wrap us around her fingers." Voldemort hummed in thought.

"I admit that makes a pretty picture," said Voldemort, at length. "Our second child can be a girl." What was he on about? It wasn't as if either of them could control what their baby turned out to be.

"It's really up to fate," insisted Harry. "Our first could be a girl. Maybe our second will be a boy." Voldemort took a deep breath and sighed.

"No, Harry," scolded Voldemort. He spoke slowly, as if Harry was a particularly slow child. "Our first child will be a boy and that's the end of it."

"What if it's a girl?" asked Harry, dreading the answer.

"Then, you'll have to lose it," said Voldemort. Lose it. As if a child were just some pen that Harry could lose whenever he pleased. "We don't want to have to go through that, do we?"

Over the next few months, Harry lived in constant worry. He went through a thousand old wives treatments to ensure that the child was a male. He knew they probably did not work. But he had to try. Voldemort would be displeased if the child was female. Harry did not want to displease his husband. Voldemort told him, every morning, that Harry did not want to displease him.

The first child wasn't male.

Voldemort was extremely angry when the healer announced that Harry's baby was a little girl. Knowing what would happen next, Harry immediately began to cry and beg, hoping that his tears would sway his monster of a husband. But nothing could change the devil’s mind.

"You don't want that girl, my love," said Voldemort. "You should lose it."

And Harry began to bleed, stomach cramping painfully. Voldemort stayed by his side, attempting to soothe him. It didn't work. Harry cried and cried, begging him to reverse the order, to save his little girl. All his pleas fell on deaf ears as Voldemort continued to tell him how everything would be better soon and how Harry would no doubt conceive a beautiful son, next.

Voldemort did not wait long to start trying for the next child and, within another month, Harry was pregnant again. This time, Harry prayed hard, to all the gods he could think of, that the baby was male. He could not take another miscarriage, could not lose another child.

"I'll kill myself," threatened Harry, "if you do that to me, again." Voldemort nodded, as if he understood. He was only humouring Harry, of course. There was no way Harry could kill himself if Voldemort did not want him to. He pulled Harry down into the bed and spooned him, rubbing his belly and muttering about what a beautiful son Harry would no doubt give him this time. "Why do you even want a son? Why do you care? I thought this was all about having power over me?"

"I don't much know how to explain," said Voldemort. "Let's see. My mother died giving birth to me. She was so weak, the little idiot. My father was my only hope for a family and he *tried* for the first few years. But then, my magick manifested, and he couldn't deal with it."

"Is this story going somewhere?" interrupted Harry, annoyed at Voldemort's long-winded explanation.

"It is," chuckled Voldemort. He kissed Harry's hair, tenderly. Sometimes, in these sweet moments, Harry got glimpses of the man Voldemort could have been, of his potential for kindness. Harry thought he could have loved that man, whoever he was. And not the cheap imitation Voldemort forced him into. True love like he knew, deep down, Voldemort wanted.

"Well," prompted Harry. "Get on with it."

"Yes, yes, my impatient heart," relented Voldemort as he tightened his arms around Harry. "When my permanent magick came in, I didn't know what was happening until I told my father to kill himself and he began to do it. He was so scared, poor man. He ran like the devil was chasing him and I never saw him again. I miss him, still. He's probably long dead. But he was a good man and I want a son to be that sort of father to."

"So," said Harry, lip wobbling in grief, "you killed my daughter because of nostalgia?"

"Smart boy," sighed Voldemort.

As it turned out, this baby *was* in fact male. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Voldemort gathered him in his arms and swung him around. He'd been ordered to be happy if this was a boy and Harry couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. He _was_ happy. He truly was. Only, he remained slightly bitter at the loss of his first child. Harry would always love his boy but he would never forget the little girl that preceded him.

"I hope you're pleased," said Harry, when Voldemort finally put him down. The man chuckled and pulled Harry into a breathless kiss.

"I love you," whispered Voldemort as if he were revealing a great and terrible secret. It wasn't the first time he'd said it but, with a jolt, Harry realised that he truly meant it, this time. "From the bottom of my heart, from the depths of my soul, I _love you,_ Harry. Love me too, Harry. Love me."

"I love you," said Harry, not truly meaning a word of it. He smiled wide, the way he knew Voldemort liked him to. But, for some reason, this caused Voldemort's elated smile to slip off his face. He did not react with the usual triumph or gloating. He simply nodded with a pained look in his eye.

"I know, heart of my heart," said Voldemort. He kissed Harry on the forehead and left him with the Healer after ordering him to learn everything he needed to know in order to make the pregnancy go smoothly.

**Later, that same day**

"I waited for you," said Harry when Voldemort came back later, that night. The twelve hours were up and Harry was going to snap the demon's neck. Nothing would stop him today. He'd stuffed his ears full of cotton he’d pulled out of the pillows. Now, he couldn't hear Voldemort's commands. But Voldemort wasn't the sort of man to rely only on his magick. He was also adept at regular magic.

As soon as Harry pounced on him, a large magical shield shot up, throwing Harry back. Fortunately, or by Voldemort's design, he fell onto something soft. Harry didn't care what happened today. He was going to snap that man's neck if it was the last thing he ever did.

But he never managed to attack again.

Voldemort raised a hand and Harry was stopped in mid-air. He seemed melancholy and his eyes and nose were red and puffy. As if he had been… crying? Confused, Harry watched as, with the tip of his wand, Voldemort drew words in the space between them.

'Love me. Please.'

What was he playing at? That wasn't how his magick worked. Had he lost his damn mind.

 _"Never!"_ growled Harry. Voldemort swallowed and nodded, hurt flashing in his eyes even as he tried to tamp it down and hide it. Harry watched in amazement as a single tear rolled down his captor's cheek.

'Go,' Voldemort traced with his wand. 'Hide and never let me find you. I won't let go, next time.'

And Harry went. Harry went and didn’t look back. He had no idea what bug had suddenly overtaken Voldemort. But his father had always said to never look a gift horse in the mouth. And Harry would be damned if he questioned whatever was happening right now.

***

**Six years later**

Harry watched the little boy climb up the jungle gym alongside the other children. He sat near a group of chattering mothers, attempting to go through his papers. It wasn't easy to do with all the children screeching and giggling and crying and being otherwise loud. Plus, Harry also had to keep an eye on his own boy.

Who was currently hanging upside down the bars, one leg hooked to hold him up. For fuck's sake.

"Tom!"

Tom grinned and unlatched his little leg from the bar, falling head first. At the last second, he turned around and landed on his knees.

"The landing needs some work," mused Tom.

"The landing shouldn't be happening in the first place," said Harry, pulling on the boy's ear. Tom immediately reached up for his mother's wrist.

"Ow, ow, mummy," whined Tom. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Promise."

  
"That's what you promised, last time," Harry pointed out. "If I can't trust you to keep your word, then you're not coming to the jungle gym ever again. Hear me?"

"You can't stop me!" argued Tom. Harry was suddenly overcome with the need to agree. Of course he couldn't stop Tom. What was he thinking? Fortunately, Tom was only starting to come into his magicks and he wasn't as powerful as his horrible father.

"What did mummy say about your words?" scolded Harry. Tom flushed in shame as he realised that he'd given an order.

"Sorry, mummy," apologized Tom, looking very contrite indeed. He had a conscience that his own father had never developed and Harry was really proud of him for it. At least Tom knew right from wrong. "I didn't mean to."

"Alright," sighed Harry. "But you have to be careful with your words. You know this." Tom nodded vehemently.

Tom was five years old now and, so far, he'd inherited Harry's flight and Voldemort's command. Harry was hoping that he wouldn't inherit the super strength. Tom was already too powerful through his father's magick.

Besides, it remained to be seen if all his magicks would be inherited or if he would develop one of his own, soon. Harry was not looking forward to that because Tom could be a little spoiled at times.

Every now and then, Tom would do things that reminded Harry of his husband (they were still married since Harry could never go back to ask for a divorce). The little boy would demand things, expecting others to obey. He would throw temper tantrums when his little friends would not follow his orders. And Harry had, once, caught him ordering a snake to scare a little girl.

But Tom was also very sweet. He would understand if his demands were too much for the other person to meet. He would apologise for screaming at his friends (after a whole twenty minutes of cooling down, of course). And, he'd made a flower crown for the little girl he had scared. Even let her pet the garden snake he'd sicced on her.

Tom was his father and his mother in equal measures.

"Mummy," asked Tom, one day. "Is daddy still a bad man?"

"You don't suddenly stop being a bad man, Tommy," said Harry as he continued to grade the fifth year Special Magicks essays.

"But it's been five years," said Tom, holding out five fingers, just so Harry knew exactly how many he was talking about. Harry counted out each finger and said:

"That's five, indeed."

"See," nodded Tom. "That's a lot! Maybe he's good now. We should check!"

"Tom," sighed Harry. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. Voldemort isn't the sort of man who can become good in just five years."

"Really?" asked Tom, sounding very disappointed.

"Maybe we'll see when you're older," proposed Harry. Tom immediately perked up and grinned.

"You're the best, mummy!"

Harry had never hidden Tom's parentage from him. His son knew all about Voldemort and most of what he had done to Harry. It had been essential in helping Tom understand why he had to be careful when speaking. Besides, Tom had lots of questions about his father.

"Do I look like him?" Tom would ask.

"You have his hair and his nose," Harry would answer. Tom wasn't displeased with this. Harry did not expect him to be. He'd made sure Tom knew that Voldemort had very much wanted him. No matter how much Harry may hate the man, he could not let Tom feel rejected.

"Could he fly?" Tom would wonder as he flew circles above Harry's head so he could be caught if things went south.

"He could," Harry would say. "But it wasn't his magick. That one, you inherited from me." Tom was also pleased when he was told he had something of Harry. He liked being compared to his mum just as much as he liked being compared to dad.

"Did he love us?" Tom would ask when Harry would pick him up from school and other children had mums _and_ dads.

"I don't know," Harry would answer. "I never understood how he felt. I know he _wanted_  us."

"What's the difference?"

"It's the difference between wanting pudding" Harry would explain, "and what you feel for Hedwig. You really want pudding and you really like it. But you wouldn't want to see pudding every-day and you'd grow tired of pudding eventually. Would you ever grow tired of Hedwig?"

"Never!" Tom would say, hugging Hedwig even as the owl sported the most long-suffering look Harry had ever seen on any animal.

***

It was as Harry was dropping Tom off, one morning, that life seemed to catch up to their little corner of heaven.

A handsome blond man with mismatched eyes approached Harry, holding out a piece of paper. He was older and elegant in a way that reminded Harry of Voldemort. Immediately, Harry was on his guard.

"Hello, young man," greeted the gentleman. "I am hoping you might help me. I am looking for Hog- Hogswart? Hosgwart? Hogwarts! Yes, that is it! I am looking for Hogwarts."

"And who might you be?" asked Harry, narrowing his eyes at the suspicious man. Clearly, the man did not mind being asked. He brightened up and smiled at Harry.

"Gellert Grindlewald," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for Harry to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Gellert," said Harry, reaching for the man's hand very carefully. When nothing happened as they made contact, Harry relaxed a little. "Why do you need to get to Hogwarts?"

"I'm looking for an old friend," said Gellert, gesturing to the paper. "This is the address he sent me, years ago. I do not know if he is still there. But I hope that, at the very least, they may tell me where to find him."

Harry took the paper and read. It said: 'If you ever tire of chasing paper planes, come to Hogwarts.' Harry knew that handwriting, had seen it and the green ink it was written in at the bottom of quite a few report cards and letters to his parents.

Gellert was looking for Dumbledore.

"You want Dumbledore," said Harry, not minding how he phrased it. He should have because Gellert immediately flushed red at the double entendre.

"Is it very obvious?" he asked, adjusting his robes and trying to flatten his already neat hair. That wasn't at all what Harry had meant, so it was no surprise that he reddened in response.

"That's not what I-" stuttered Harry. "Isn't- isn't he too old for you?" Gellert could not have been any older than 85 and Dumbledore had been nearly 120 when he'd... died.

"Oh, you flatter me," said Gellert. "I am only well-preserved because of my magick. It's a side-effect, you see. I am much older than I look. Same as Mr. Dumbledore."

Harry had never heard of magicks that had side-effects, much less any that slowed down one's aging. But that was hardly important, right now.

"I'm really sorry," said Harry, bowing his head in shame as he remembered Dumbledore's final moments. "Professor Dumbledore- He's... _dead."_ If Harry hadn't been looking at his feet, he might not have noticed Gellert's slight stumble.

"O-oh," said Gellert. "Well, that's just my luck, isn't it? I finally gather my wits to come to him and I'm too late." Harry could not bring himself to look up, to see the pain that was probably in Gellert's eyes. This was all his fault.

"Could you bring me to him, perhaps?" asked Gellert, after a while of silently swaying in the wind. "To his grave, I mean. I would- I would like to pay my respects."

Harry nodded numbly and began to lead Gellert through the streets of Hogsmeade, up to Hogwarts castle. Dumbledore's body was buried on the grounds after Voldemort had returned it to his opposition. Not out of any sense of decency, mind. The body was returned so Voldemort could gloat in the face of the anguish caused by the state of Dumbledore's body. And gloat he had.

Harry had been there for it, albeit disillusioned. He'd watched as several members of the Order had fallen to their knees, screaming and crying in their horror. It had been terrible to watch, knowing that he had been the cause of all this grief. Of course, Voldemort had been in a bright mood and had fucked Harry hard and brutal, that same night.

"The things you do to me," Voldemort had grinned as they lay side-by-side. "This is why I can never let you go. You understand, don't you?"

"I understand," Harry had said. He didn't. There was no way the real Harry could understand what, about murder and causing pain, aroused Voldemort so much. But he could not say that. Voldemort would not allow it.

It was with a heavy heart and guilt-laden steps that Harry led Gellert to Dumbledore's grave. The whole thing was made up of white marble that Hogwarts' caretaker, Argus Filch, painstakingly maintained.

Harry had never liked Filch much when he'd been a student. The squib had constantly been looking for ways to get any and all students in trouble. Even now that Harry was the Special Magicks Professor, Filch's ways had not changed. But the way he diligently took care of Dumbledore's grave, weeding and cleaning everyday, had led to a sort of mutual understanding between them. At least, they no longer had screaming matches in the hallway.

"This is it," said Harry, pointing to the grave. Gellert straightened his robes and knelt by the headstone. Harry had this sudden feeling that he was intruding on a very private moment. "I'll-I'll leave you alone."

"Thank you," nodded Gellert. "Where can I find you, after I'm done? I'd like to speak to you."

"Just go into the castle," answered Harry, "and ask for Professor Potter."

"I'll see you later, then," said Gellert, dismissing Harry. Harry turned and almost ran back to the castle, away from the evil he was responsible for.

He didn't see Gellert until much later that day. One of his students led him straight to Harry's office. He'd obviously been crying. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose was slightly pink. Harry offered him a tissue which he refused.

"I don't know why I waited so long," sighed Gellert. "I was being a stubborn little idiot. He kept sending me letters and I kept ignoring them. I feel so _foolish,_ now… Do you- Do you know how he died?"

Harry had been dreading that question, wondering how he was supposed to answer. He _should_  tell Gellert about his own role in Dumbledore's death. That was the honourable thing to do. But Harry was reluctant.

"Voldemort," said Harry, at length. "Voldemort killed him, six years ago. Professor Dumbledore had been trying to help one of his old students. He'd underestimated the power of Voldemort's permanent magick."

"Voldemort," snarled Gellert, going from sad to furious in the span of a few seconds. Harry was struck with the sense that this man was extremely dangerous. "That fucking upstart Dark Lord, is it?"

"Uh, yes," frowned Harry. "But he's no upstart, Gellert. He's very dangerous and he has a massive following. Especially amongst those who have all the power in our society."

"I don't care how powerful he is," hissed Gellert. "I'll make him pay for murdering my best friend. My only true friend."

"Gellert, don't be stupid," warned Harry. But the man was already rising up and walking out the door. Harry followed him but, by the time he stepped out of the office, Gellert was already gone. Harry stared down both sides of the long corridor, wondering how it was possible for the man to have disappeared so fast. Was his magick speed?

"Professor!" called a student, distracting Harry from the strange man with mismatched eyes. Gellert was an adult. Whatever he decided to do, he would have to live with the consequences. Harry could not baby every man, woman, and child that decided to go up against Voldemort.

**A few months later**

Today was Tom's birthday. Harry was busy decorating the house, hanging up paper snakes and a giant poster of the World Serpent which Tom had been drawing all over his copybooks for the past few weeks. He'd discovered mention of it in one of the many snake-related books he liked to read and couldn't stop thinking about it. As a result, his birthday cake was a model of the earth with a red serpent coiled around him. Tom did love his snakes.

The patio door was open.

Hindsight was 20/20, as they say. But it'd been almost seven years and nothing had happened. Harry had grown confident and complacent in that confidence. He'd moved out of Hogwarts, into Hogsmeade to give Tom a normal life. Or as normal as being a single parent's child could be. That was his biggest mistake.

"You didn't even leave the country."

Harry had heard that voice many times, over the years. In his nightmares, in his daydreams, in the months following his release. He dreaded it, always looked around nervously when he heard anything approximating it. Slowly, infinitely slowly, he turned around.

And there he was, standing between the doorjambs, looking the same as six years ago.

"I told you to hide," hissed Voldemort. He was angry. Very, very angry. His face was screwed in a scowl. "I told you I would never let go if I found you again. Did you not understand? Did you think I wouldn't keep my word, my love?"

"I- There-" stuttered Harry, utterly terrified. Tom was due home any minute. He had to get Voldemort out of here as soon as humanly possible. "There was n-nowhere I could h-hide that you wouldn't find u-us. Hogwarts- Hogwarts was the safest place I knew."

"Then, why aren't you at Hogwarts?" growled Voldemort.

"You didn't come," said Harry. "Everyone knew I was at Hogwarts and you didn't come. I thought- I wanted to give Tom-"

"Tom?" interrupted Voldemort, coming up short. His anger seemed to melt away, replaced by confusion. "What- How do you know that name?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. "That's his name. That's our son's name."

"You named him Tom?" said Voldemort, paling till he was paper white.

"Y-yes," answered Harry. "It's- It's a family tradition. An ordinary name for an extraordinary child."

"You named him Tom," repeated Voldemort.

"I know it's not as grand as Voldemort," defended Harry. "But he's _my_ son and I named him according to _my_ traditions. I raised him by myself. _You_ don't get to give any input on this matter. You're just a glorified sperm donor!"

"Watch how you speak to me, my heart," snapped Voldemort. "Do not make me any angrier than I already am." And there it was. There was his first command. The first in a long line, Harry realised. How could he have been so stupid? He'd let sentiment rule him and now, Tom was going to pay for his foolishness. He couldn't stop the tear that fell down his cheek out of sheer frustration.

"No," said Voldemort. "No, don't cry, heart of my heart. Wait. No. Cry if you want to. Do whatever you want to. You don't have to listen to me. Merlin damn it! I swore I wouldn't do this to you again. How do people even do this? Not giving orders."

"What?" asked Harry, feeling dazed at Voldemort's fast-paced monologue. He was all over the place, pacing up and down the living room and muttering to himself about watching his _stupid_  mouth. "Are you doing stand-up comedy in my living room?"

"What is stand-up comedy?" asked Voldemort, stopping to stare at him in confusion.

"It's- It doesn't matter," said Harry. "What are you _doing?_ Are you not here to force me back to your side?"

"No," said Voldemort, shaking his head. "No, I'm never going to force you, again."

"Then, get out of my house," ordered Harry, pointing to the patio door.

"Harry-"

"Get out!"

"My heart, you don't understand," said Voldemort. "You and the boy, you're in danger."

"From someone other than you?" asked Harry. "I very much doubt it. Leave, Voldemort!"

"I'm not leaving," insisted Voldemort. "Someone's been attempting to kill me, recently and they very nearly succeeded. I only survived because I have so many contingency plans. I believe they might come to you and our child, next."

"I haven't seen any would-be assassins, _husband,"_ sneered Harry. "Your stupid tricks won't work. Get out of my house. Get out of my life. And never let me see you again!"

Of course, Tom chose that exact moment to come back home. Harry watched in horror as the front door opened to let his little tyke into their home.

"Mummy, look," said Tom, brandishing a giant snake plushie. "Dorcas gave me a Jörmungandr! Lookit!" He was almost up to Harry when he noticed the strange man in their living room. Immediately, he dove under Harry's robes, hiding behind his legs. He peeked out several times to see if Voldemort was still looking at him.

"Hello," greeted Voldemort with a small smile.

"H-hi," said Tom. "I don't know you. Who are you, mister?

Harry considered being petty in that moment. He thought to tell Tom that Voldemort was nobody and that he was leaving right then. But Tom had always dreamt of this day, Harry knew. He wanted to know his father. He wanted someone to call Daddy. He envied Dorcas, his 'best friend in the whole world', for having a Daddy. And Harry, bleeding heart that he was, could not deny his baby this chance.

"This is Daddy, Tom," explained Harry. Tom looked up at Harry, then back at Voldemort.

"Daddy," breathed Tom. He flushed red and attempted to move a little further out of Harry's robes. It wasn't easy. Tom was feeling very shy, that day. Slowly, very tentatively, he reached out a hand for Voldemort to shake.

Voldemort mirrored Tom's actions in that he also reached for the little boy's hand tentatively. When their hands met, Voldemort's large palm engulfing Tom's tiny one, Harry's son began to vibrate in excitement.

"Does this mean you're nice, now?" asked Tom, full of hope. "Are you going to do good things and live with me and mummy? Like Dorcas' daddy lives with her?"

"Tom, no," sighed Harry. He knew this would break Tom's heart but Voldemort was a horrible bastard who did not even deserve being let into this house, let alone live with them. "He's still a bad man."

"O-oh," said Tom. He let go of Voldemort's hand, disappointed and heartbroken. "I'm sorry, mummy." He hugged Harry's legs and turned away from Voldemort.

"I barely even said a word to him," said Voldemort, snorting in disbelief. There was a hurt in his eyes that Harry had never thought him capable of. It was befuddling, but it did not move Harry's heart. Tom could not grow up around the monster that Voldemort still was.

"Did you expect any different?" asked Harry. He draped his robes around Tom, hiding him further. There was no telling how Voldemort would react to the little boy's rejection. Voldemort followed the action with a frown on his face.

"I'm not going to hurt him," assured Voldemort.

"Good, then," said Harry. "Now that we've established that you won't hurt my son and that you're not going to force me, the door is right there. I trust you can see yourself out.

"Harry," said Voldemort, "please do not make this any more difficult than it has to be." It did not wash over Harry like an order. Harry thought it might have been the 'please'.

"What exactly, am I making difficult?" asked Harry. "You wanted to warn me about an assassin. Consider me warned. Now, leave." He waved towards the door.

Voldemort did not leave. He took a deep breath and sighed in aggravation.

"You made me do this, my love," Voldemort accused, biting his bottom lip. "You left me no other choice."

"What are you-"

"Go pack your bags," ordered Voldemort. "Both of you. Take everything you need and come with me."

"You said you wouldn't force me," said Harry, even as he turned around and began to lead Tom to his room so they could pack his things. He felt betrayed. Then, he felt stupid. Why had he ever trusted Voldemort? Why had he believed a promise from the man who had happily raped him for _months?_

"I don't want to do this," insisted Voldemort. "I just need the both of you to be safe. I swear, I would not do this if I could help it. I stayed away for almost seven years, didn't I?"

"You should have stayed away, forever," spat Harry, venom lacing his tone. He did not waste anymore energy on Voldemort, however, because Tom was very confused by what was happening and he did not like not understanding things. This led to him crying silent, furious tears.

"Daddy, you're _mean,"_ said Tom as he tried to squeeze his Jörmungandr along with all the clothes and toys Harry had already packed into his trunk.

"That I am," sighed Voldemort as he tapped the trunk with the tip of his wand. Immediately, the inside expanded and Jörmungandr fell into the depths of the trunk.

"I don't like you," added Tom. He closed his trunk and looked Voldemort in the eye. "But, thank you."

"Mummy raised you well," said Voldemort, ruffling Tom's hair.

"I did," said Harry, taking Tom's hand in his own and pulling him away from Voldemort. "And I would thank you to not touch my son, Willy-Nilly."

"Alright, Harry," relented Voldemort. "Now, come along the both of you." He led them to the garden and held out a had to each of them.

"I'm not touching you with a five foot pole," snapped Harry. Tom, firmly on his mother's side, did not take Voldemort's hand either.

"Just take my hands," sighed Voldemort. Clenching his jaw, Harry did just that. Tom followed suit, just as reluctant. They Apparated away and Harry almost began crying when he realised Voldemort had taken them right back to the set of Harry's worst nightmares. His mansion.

"I don't want to be here," said Harry, in a small voice. "Please, let us go."

"I told you I'd never let go again," retorted Voldemort. "I told you to hide. You didn't. I told you to never let me find you again. You didn't. You've only yourself to blame for this, Harry."

"I just wanted Tom to have a normal childhood," said Harry.

"Well, this is the price, isn't it?" stated Voldemort.

  
He led them to a blue-green room that Harry had never seen when he'd last lived here. There were shelves stacked full of books on snakes and snake figurines along one wall. A bed, shaped like a basilisk head with a gaping maw and a matress where the tongue should have been, took up quite a bit of the room's centre. Everywhere they looked, there was snake-related paraphernalia.

"This is Tom's room," said Voldemort. With growing disgust, Harry realised that the bastard had been keeping tabs on them. He knew all about Tom's obsession with snakes.

"You stalked us," said Harry, "and you didn't know his name?"

"I wanted to hear it from you," admitted Voldemort. "It did not feel right, learning it from my Death Eaters."

"Gods," sighed Harry, "since when have you even been bothered with doing the right thing?"

"Since I fell in love with you," said Voldemort.

"You wouldn't know love if it hit you in the face with a bag of bricks!" stated Harry. It wasn't meant to be funny. Harry had meant it as a scathing observation of Voldemort's lack of any feelings whatsoever.

But it was funny.

Voldemort stared at him for a full ten seconds before looking away as he tried to keep the laughter down. Harry had no such compunctions. He began to chortle and, shortly enough, Voldemort joined him in his mirth. Tom didn't mind them. He was much more interested in the basilisk bed, stroking the carved fangs with unbridled awe.

At length, Voldemort suggested that they left Tom to explore his room. He picked up Harry's trunk and led them down the corridor. Harry recognised it and stopped before they even reached the door.

"You can't be serious," said Harry.

"I'm very serious," said Voldemort. He continued down the corridor, not waiting to see if Harry was following. "We're married, my love. It doesn't make sense to keep separate beds."

"It makes sense," hissed Harry as he caught up, "if my husband is _also_  my rapist. I'm not sharing a room with you, let alone a bed!"

"I'm not giving you the option, beloved," stated Voldemort, simply. "We're married and you are sleeping in our marriage bed."

"What's next?" demanded Harry, feeling pretty damn furious, again. "Will it be 'we are married, so i'll be fucking you'? Are you going to rape me again?"

"I wish you wouldn't use that word," said Voldemort, frowning in disgust. "I hate that word."

"I'm calling it what it was," said Harry. "It was rape and you _know_ it."

"I don't know anything, Harry!" yelled Voldemort. "I don't know if you ever wanted it. I don't know if _anyone_  does _anything_ for me because they want to. I don't fucking _know._ I just- I am trying, Harry. I am trying to be very careful. I won't order you unless it's absolutely necessary. And- and I won't have sex with you unless you ask me to. I won't even touch you without your permission."

"I should kill you," seethed Harry. "I should snap your neck, right now."

"Why don't you?" asked Voldemort.

"Are you for real?" said Harry, incredulously. "I- I fucking _killed_ a man for you. Do you even know how many nightmares I've had because of this? How many times my son had to wake me up because I was screaming in my sleep? I don't want your _filthy_ blood on my hands!"

"Filthy," repeated Voldemort. "Get in the room, Harry. I'm going for a walk."

"What?" frowned Harry. "Wait. Where are you going? This isn't over. This discussion isn't over!" But Voldemort was already walking away, acting like he could not hear Harry. _"Coward!"_

Harry stalked into the room, anger roiling off of him in waves. He wanted to go find Tom, but Voldemort's command had been to go into the room. He wasn't sure he was allowed to leave it and Voldemort's stupid magick worked a lot based on one's interpretation of his commands. So, he opened the door and called for Tom, hoping that his room wasn't soundproof. It wasn't and Tom came, running, holding Jörmungandr above his head. Trailing behind him was Nagini, Voldemort's giant pet snake.

"Daddy has a Jör!" said Tom, gesturing excitedly towards Nagini. "Her name is Nagini and lookit! She's bigger than _my_ Jör." He placed his Jörmungandr on the floor, next to Nagini, and she was indeed longer than the toy by a whole head.

Harry had no fond memories of Nagini. He remembered her as his Jailor when Voldemort was gone for longer than twelve hours. Of course, he'd also been bogged down by several runes and spells on those days. Still, he did not like her much and blamed her for many a wasted opportunities.

"Is she nice to you?" asked Harry as he had an epiphany. Tom nodded and petted her diamon-shaped head. She didn't try to eat his little hand, so Harry took it as a good sign. "Tom, I want you to practice giving orders to Nagini."

"What for?" asked Tom, still petting the big snake.

"Nagini knows the way out of here," explained Harry. "If things go bad between me and daddy, I want you to get her to take you to safety. Even if you have to leave mummy behind."

"But I don't want to leave you," said Tom, sounding very upset.

"I know honey," said Harry, running his hands through Tom's hair. Tom leaned into the touch and came closer to hug Harry. "Mummy doesn't want to leave you either. But daddy is a bad, bad man. And I'm very scared for you, baby. If anything happened to you, mummy would simply die, do you understand?" It was a low blow and it got Tom crying and squeezing Harry tighter in fear. But it worked and Harry got a pinky promise out of Tom.

Voldemort didn't come back until much later that night. Tom was sleeping in Harry's arms because Voldemort's command had yet to wear off and Harry could not go tuck his child into bed.

"Can I leave, now?" asked Harry. "I'm sure this room is going to turn into a battlefield, tonight. I don't want Tom in the crosshairs."

"Go tuck him and come back," said Voldemort, dismissively. He went into the bathroom without a second look in their direction.

"I thought you said you wouldn't order me, unless necessary," said Harry, through gritted teeth when he came back. Voldemort was already in bed, reading a book.

"Sorry," said Voldemort. "I wasn't thinking."

"Sorry," repeated Harry. "My bad. Didn't mean to do it. Is that all you can say to taking my agency away from me."

"Harry, I'm not in the mood!" snapped Voldemort. "Pick your battles, for fuck's sake. Has no one taught you that?"

Harry considered him for a moment. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were red. He looked exceptionally angry that night and Harry thought he might be right. With their son only a few doors down, Harry didn't want to risk Voldemort truly blowing his fuse.

Huffing, he picked up his bag of toiletries and rooted for pyjamas. He locked himself in the bathroom, psyching himself up for a night in the same bed as his rapist husband. One night. He could survive one night. Tomorrow, Voldemort would be off to do whatever it was Dark Lords did. Harry would find a way to escape with Tom and run away to Tibet or something. Shave his head and become a Buddhist monk. Maybe he'd be unrecognisable without all his hair.

He played with the bathroom's doorknob for a while before reminding himself that he was a bloody Gryffindor. Enough with all the cowardice! He shoved the door open with a loud bang, causing Voldemort to look up with an exasperated sigh.

Wordlessly, Harry climbed into the bed and turned his back onto Voldemort. He heard the bastard sigh again and the lights were off a moment later.

"I love you," said Voldemort, to his back.

"I hate you," answered Harry.

**Days later**

The stupid mansion was a bloody fortress. Harry and Tom kept getting turned around every time they tried to escape and Tom was no closer to getting Nagini to show them the way out. He'd been getting better. He could hold the thrall for fifteen minutes now. But it turned out that getting out of the house took much longer than fifteen minutes.

Life with Voldemort did not get better for Harry. Everyday they found something new to argue about. From sleeping in the same bed (arguably a great source of trauma for Harry) to the flavour of crepes they had at breakfast.

"Tom likes them with chocolate," said Harry.

"It's bad for his teeth," countered Voldemort, not even looking up from his stupid Prophet.

"A little bit won't kill him," seethed Harry. "He's not a bloody ferret!"

"You say that now," said Voldemort. But he didn't bloody finish.

"I wish you'd drop dead!" sneered Harry.

"Mummy!" scolded Tom. "That's not a nice thing to say." If only Harry had raised his baby a little less properly.

***

One night, Voldemort was very late coming back home. Harry was standing at their terrace, staring down the side of the building. Perhaps he could fly them down. Why hadn't he thought of that before? What the hell was his flight even for? Fucking- Ugh. _Harry!_

He climbed up the railing and flung himself off the side of it. Immediately a crushing force seized him and tossed him back into the terrace. Harry sat on the floor, staring dazedly for a moment. It dawned on him that Voldemort had been prepared even for the eventuality of Harry trying to fly away.

 _"FUCK YOU!"_ Harry screamed, hot tears streaming down his face. He was never getting out of there. His life was ruined. He and his son were doomed to spending a lifetime at the mercy of Lord _fucking_  Voldemort.

"Aren't you an angry young man."

Harry immediately sat up straight. He hadn't thought he would ever meet the man again. After he had left Harry's office, there had never been any news of him. Harry had dismissed him as dead at the hands of Voldemort, just like Albus before him. But there he was, balancing on the railing, as if he were four decades younger than he actually was.

Gellert Grindlewald.

"You- How?" breathed Harry in wonder.

"One of my magicks," answered Gellert as he jumped down from the railing. He offered a hand to help Harry up. "I can nullify most regular magic. His confusion and lock-down spells don't work on me."

"You- you could take us out of here," said Harry. He grabbed on to man's arm with such a fierce hope in his heart. Gellert could save them. He could take them away from Voldemort. "I- I'll go fetch my son. I'll go get Tom and you can get us out."

"I will," said Gellert with a raised eyebrow. "But you need to do something for me first." Harry's heart dropped in an instant. This didn't bode well.

"Wh-what do you-"

"You know exactly what I want," interrupted Gellert. "I managed to get through almost all of his magical protection. But, at the last minute, he ordered me away. He woke up and ordered me away. I was half-way to Chile before I snapped out of it."

"I won't kill him," said Harry. "I can't risk it. I can't risk failing. My son would pay for it." Gellert nodded in understanding.

"I'm not asking you to kill him," said Gellert. He produced a little potion from his robes. "I just need you to make him drink this."

"What is this?" asked Harry. He took the vial in his hands and inspected it against the moonlight. He could not recognise it.

"Nothing much, dear," said Gellert. "It's only a sleeping potion. All you have to do is make him sleep deeply, and I can take care of the rest. You just close your eyes and pretend you never saw anything."

"You want to kill him in his sleep?" asked Harry.

"Oh, no," said Gellert, waving his hand dismissively. "Not in his sleep. He'll wake up once I start squeezing his neck. I do want to watch the life leaving his rotten eyes."

"Why are you making me do this?" whimpered Harry. "I just want to keep my son safe." Gellert's eyes flashed, then. Something dangerous seemed to blink behind his mismatched irises, like a lizard's vertical eyelid.

"I know what you did, Harry," said Gellert, quietly. "You told me Voldemort killed my Albus. But that wasn't the whole truth, was it?" Harry felt cold in his gut. Gellert knew. He knew what Harry had done.

"I didn't want to," cried Harry. "He made me do it."

"Shh, sweetheart," hushed Gellert, cupping Harry's face between his hands. "I know. I know you didn't want to. I'm not angry at you. But you know you owe me this. You owe me, Harry. Help me widow you, yes?"

"My son-"

"I won't fail," promised Gellert. "Give Voldemort the potion and I promise you, I won't fail."

Harry didn't know what to think. On the one hand, he was very afraid for Tom, for what would happen if Gellert failed. But, on the other hand, Gellert could finally free them from Voldemort, forever. They wouldn't need to hide and Tom could be just like the other children. Safe and happy.

Besides which, Gellert had almost succeeded once. He could do it again. He could rid the world of the terror that was Lord Voldemort.

"Alright," agreed Harry. He pocketed the potion. "Alright, I'll do it. But you can't fail. You hear me? You can't fail."

"I _won't,"_ grinned Gellert. He snapped his fingers and, in the next moment, he was gone, leaving Harry feeling like he'd missed something.

When Voldemort finally came back, Harry was waiting for him with two cups of teas. One of them, he was nursing himself. The other was under a heating charm. Harry nodded at it.

"What is this?" asked Voldemort, suspicious as always.

"Tea," answered Harry. Which was technically true. It just had an extra, colourless, odourless ingredient. Voldemort picked up the cup and sniffed at it. He performed a detection spell on it, which Harry had not expected. The spell turned up with nothing and Harry had to marvel at Gellert's skill.

"Why did you make me tea?" frowned Voldemort. "You've never done anything nice for me unless ordered to."

"Oh, so you know?" sassed Harry.

"Harry," warned Voldemort.

"Just drink the goddamn tea," snapped Harry. "It's to help you sleep so I don't have to worry about wandering hands at night."

"Ah," nodded Voldemort. "That's more like you." He downed the tea in one shot, never minding the temperature. Harry had expected him to go down like a log, immediately. But he didn't. He simply went about his business, as usual, undressing and showering before climbing into bed and snuggling under the covers. Harry followed his example, wondering if Gellert's potion had been ineffective.

But when he jostled Voldemort, expecting to see him shoot up like lightning, nothing happened. Voldemort had always been a light sleeper and, even these past few days, whenever Harry had woken up to use the bathroom, the Dark Lord had also jolted awake. Yet, here he was, as if dead to the world. Gellert was likely a potions genius.

Harry immediately left their bedroom and went to check in on Tom. He was curled up under the basilisk fangs, Nagini wrapped around his ankles. Harry went to wake him up.

"Mummy?" asked Tom, blearily.

"Yes, sweetie," said Harry. "Something is happening tonight. I need you to keep Nagini here. Can you do it for me?" At the sound of her name, Nagini reared her massive head in curiosity.

"Is daddy being bad?" asked Tom. He seemed worried, so Harry kissed the top of his little head.

"No worries, sweetie," reassured Harry. "Just keep Nagini here."

"Awright," said Tom. He hissed at Nagini in that awful tongue he shared with his father. The snake nodded her big head and settled further amongst Tom's bedsheets. "Come back, mummy."

"Promise," said Harry.

Harry opened the window to his and Voldemort's bedroom. Gellert had not told Harry how to contact him when the deed was done. But Harry imagined he had his way of knowing. He stared out the open window, waiting.

"Good job."

Harry turned to find Gellert already standing over the sleeping form of Voldemort. He straddled the Dark Lord's sleeping form and placed his hands at the man's neck. Still, Voldemort did not wake.

"You can leave, now," said Gellert. "Go be with your boy. I will come find you when it is done."

"No," said Harry. "I want to watch him die. After everything he did to me, I think I deserve it." Gellert nodded and motioned, with his chin, for Harry to come closer. He mouthed a countdown and then it began.

He squeezed with all his might.

Instantly, Voldemort's eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth, attempting to draw a breath, to say something. But Gellert's hands were trapping his windpipe. Nothing came out. He reached for Gellert's wrists, then, trying to pry them off.

Harry had forgotten how strong Voldemort was.

Gellert's face began to redden in exertion as he fought against Voldemort, trying to keep his hands pressed against the Dark Lord's windpipe. But he was going to lose. Harry could see it already. Voldemort was so strong.

"This is going to hurt," said Harry to Gellert. For a moment, Voldemort was confused. He paused in his struggle, staring at Harry with betrayal clear in his eyes. Harry ignored it.

"I don't care," allowed Gellert. "I just want him dead. Hurt me if you have to. My hands will heal." And so, Harry wrapped his hands around Gellert's and squeezed.

The strangest thing happened next. Voldemort stopped struggling, entirely. Instead, tears began to fall down the side of his face and he reached up for Harry's hands. He did not try to pry them off. He only held on, weakening by the second. Finally, he parted his lips. Surprised, Harry realised that he was saying something.

'I love you' he was mouthing. And Harry could not fashion himself so cruel. Not here, at the end.

"I understand," said Harry. "So, go in peace." Voldemort smiled a watery smile and drew a few more breaths before he finally went still. Harry kept squeezing for another ten minutes, just to be sure.

"He's gone," breathed Gellert in awe. "He's gone."

Harry allowed Gellert to remove his broken hands. Gellert winced in pain but said nothing. He focused on his hands and Harry heard the bones snapping back into place.

"Go," said Gellert. "Go, get your son and I'll take you both out of here." Harry nodded. Before he went, he felt compelled to rest his forehead against Voldemort's for one moment, just to send him away properly.

"Ow," he cried, jumping back in surprise. Blood dripped down his forehead.

"Are you okay?" asked Gellert.

"Yes, fine," assured Harry. "He must've had some latent offensive spell still on him. I'll-I'll be back. Let me go get Tom and we can leave." Gellert nodded and settled on the bed, next to the dead body.

He dropped them at their home and bade them goodbye. Ruffling Tom's hair, he promised he would come back every now and then.

"I'm sure Albus would've wanted me to watch over you," said Gellert. "Take care of Mummy, little man." Tom nodded, giggling in approval.

Once Gellert was gone, Harry settled Tom in his own, non-basilisk little bed. Jör was gripped in a death hug and Tom gave Harry a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Afterwards, Harry went to shower, trying to wash the murder off his skin. Of course, like in Albus' case, it did not work and Harry was left staring at his own reflection, worrying about a future filled with nightmares of his late husband.

'Did you think it would be so easy?'

Harry jumped and turned around, looking around his bathroom for the monster. But he was nowhere. Was it a figment of his imagination? Harry turned back to the mirror.

And there he was. In the mirror.

Lord Voldemort.

'My Harry,' said the shade in the mirror. 'My heart. My love. My _everything._ You _betrayed_ me!'

"I was trying to save my son!" argued Harry.

'I was keeping you safe!' yelled the shade. 'You betrayed me!'

"Don't," begged Harry. He had a terrible feeling about this. It was almost as if something so bad would happen, there would be no going back from it.

'Yes, Harry!' said Voldemort. 'I tried being nice. I tried being understanding. You didn't want it.'

"No-"

Too late.

'Love me, Harry.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. *runs from the angry mob*
> 
> This is the second and final chapter of this particular story. I know it ends on a cliffhanger but we all know i'm evil that way. Sorry. 😘

**Author's Note:**

> There might be a chapter 2 to this.


End file.
